Lucie Simone's Blog, page 7
April 18, 2013
Q&A with Liza Palmer
I am thrilled to have the fabulously talented, funny, and charming on the blog today. If you don’t already know, I have a huge literary crush on Liza. Her books are simply brilliant and she is absolutely marvelous! If you haven’t read her yet, you must! I recently Liza’s latest novel, Nowhere But Home, which quite literally moved me to tears, and I just had to have her by to share some of that magic with all my readers. Welcome, Liza!
Lucie: Nowhere But Home features some real Texas cooking. What kind of research did you do to get the ‘flavor� of Queenie Wake’s down home recipes?
Liza: My step-dad is a Cordon Bleu chef and my mom is born in Amarillo, so the food in this book had to be PERFECT. I also ran everything by a friend’s mom who is born and bred in Texas. I scoured the internet, asked tons of questions and even made the infamous from the book.
It was a mouth-watering endeavor to be sure.
Lucie: I’m a vegetarian, and even I was drooling over the Number One!
Lucie: Along the lines of research, did you visit any penitentiaries to get the feel for what Shine Prison might be like? How did that impact you and your story?
Liza: The Texas Penal System has an amazing website, of all things. They have all of the dates, pictures, names and even last words. There’s a speech Hudson gives in the bar after Queenie makes her first last meal about not wanting to know what the person did who spoke those usually beautiful last words, but knowing that when you do…it stays with you. That was definitely my way of getting a little bit of my experience with that world out…even just a bit.
It was a grizzly and intense world that I was happy to leave.
Lucie: And those scenes in Shine Prison are wrought with deep emotional drama. I can imagine not wanting to spend too much time in that world!
Lucie: Many activities in the town of North Star revolve around their winning high school football team. What kind of research did you do to capture that team spirit in the novel?
Liza: I went to Texas for a few weeks to finish writing the book and stayed in the small town of Smithville. While I was there, I absorbed as much as I could. The football was everywhere � and it doesn’t hurt that I’m a huge Friday Night Lights fan. I even added a few Easter Eggs in the book � Cal Wake’s football jersey number (#5) is a shout out to one of my favorite FNL characters: Vince Howard.
I knew football had to play a major role and was happy to thread it in as authentically as I could.
Lucie: I’m not much of a football fan myself (though I’ve been dragged to a few games in my day), however, Nowhere But Home really made the sport seem like so much more than just a game. It was a way of life!
Lucie: What is your writing method? Are you a plotter or a pantser?
Liza: I am a reformed pantser. I now outline and I have never been happier. I love knowing where I’m going, so when that saggy middle hits I can lean on the work I’ve done to push me through. This also lends itself to even more exploration � and I love finding surprises even with the outline.
Lucie: I’m a reformed pantser, too!
Lucie: Do you have any writing rituals to help set the mood before sitting down at the keyboard?
Liza: Rending my garments and copious amounts of tea.
Lucie: Ah, yes. Nothing like a good cuppa tea at writing time!
Lucie: What was your first car?
Liza: I shared a bright red Chevy Chevette (with a manual transmission???) with my mom and sister for YEARS. The passenger seat wasn’t hooked down properly, so it was more of a rocking chair than anything else. It was the worst (best.)
Lucie: I love it! My first car was a 1976 Dodge Magnum. It had T-tops that leaked and a driver’s side window that wouldn’t roll down.
Lucie: What is your favorite holiday and why?
Liza: I am a big fan of the expanse of time between Halloween and New Years. It’s just� magical. The twinkle lights, the fireplacey smell in the air and I don’t know� I just love it. People are different. Happier. Maybe that’s just me.
Lucie: Ah, a girl after my own heart. I adore the winter holidays. The sparkle and shine and the cherry colors. It’s intoxicating.
Lucie: Who was your first celebrity crush?
Liza: Pony Boy from The Outsiders. Full stop. Stay gold. (quiet sobbing) Stay gold.
Lucie: OMG! Pony Boy! I haven’t thought about him in years! Will have to rent The Outsiders ASAP!
Lucie: What was the first concert you went to and how old were you?
Liza: I went to see Janet Jackson’s, Black Cat tour. It was epic. I can’t remember how old I was� old enough to know IT WAS AWESOME.
Lucie: I have to say that is a fabulous first concert!
Lucie: If you could give just one piece of advice to your 16-year-old self, what would it be?
Liza: Take your time. Don’t be so busy trying to blend in that you miss the experience. No one is pointing and laughing at your attempts � they’re all just as much of a wreck as you are.
Be here now.
Lucie: Excellent advice. And I do wish I’d gotten that when I was sixteen.
Thanks a million, Liza, for stopping by my blog! So wonderful of you to share your time with me!
To learn more about Liza and read her completely awesome books, visit her !
Ciao!
Lucie
April 16, 2013
Nowhere But Home Review
Nowhere But Home
Queenie Wake, a country girl from North Star, Texas, has just been fired from her job as a chef for not allowing a customer to use ketchup. Again. Now the only place she has to go is home to North Star. She can hope, maybe things will be different. Maybe her family’s reputation as those Wake women will have been forgotten. It’s been years since her mother-notorious for stealing your man, your car, and your rent money-was killed. And her sister, who as a teenager was branded as a gold-digging harlot after having a baby with local golden boy Wes McKay, is now the mother of the captain of the high school football team. It can’t be that bad�
Who knew that people in small town Texas had such long memories? And of course Queenie wishes that her memory were a little spottier when feelings for her high school love, Everett Coburn, resurface. He broke her heart and made her leave town-can she risk her heart again?
At least she has a new job-sure it’s cooking last meals for death row inmates but at least they don’t complain!
But when secrets from the past emerge, will Queenie be able to stick by her family or will she leave home again? A fun-filled, touching story of food, football, and fooling around.
My Thoughts:
It’s been a long time since I’ve read a book that had me sobbing like a baby in the middle of the night, unable to tear myself away from the pages. But that’s what happened with Liza Palmer’s Nowhere But Home. Liza is one of my favorite authors, so I had no doubt that she would deliver a stellar read. But wow, I wasn’t expecting it to hit so close to…well, home. Palmer’s writing is so subtle yet digs so deep. Written in first person present tense, Palmer takes the reader into the world of North Star, a small Texas town, and into the mind of Queenie Wake, one of North Star’s most notorious residents. Queenie returns home after several years of trying to escape her past, one filled with tragedy and a forbidden love. But coming home, she is forced to face the dark parts of her life and those of others� when she is asked to cook last meals for the local prison. Palmer creates a world so authentic and characters so true to life that you not only feel like you’re part of the story, but that the author is actually in your own head, revealing your darkest fears and your deepest hopes. Blending humor with heartache, Nowhere But Home is a loving tribute to the power of family, love, and the places we call home. A beautiful story that will keep you turning the pages until late into the night! A must read!
About the Author:
Liza Palmer is the internationally bestselling author of Conversations with the Fat Girl , which has been optioned for series by HBO.
Library Journal said Palmer’s “blend of humor and sadness is realistic and gripping,..�
After earning two Emmy nominations writing for the first season of VH1’s Pop Up Video, she now knows far too much about Fergie. To learn more about Liza, visit her website at
April 8, 2013
Mind Over Matter
I’ve blogged recently about my goal to drop some excess weight and the challenges that come along with that. And if you’ve ever been on a diet in your life, you know how hard it is to stay on track. I can’t tell you how many diets I’ve tried � everything from Weight Watchers to juicing � and the one thing they all have in common is that they work. Yep, they work. You know, just so long as you stay on them. I’ve probably lost and gained a hundred pounds in the past 20 years. Hell, maybe two hundred! But it never sticks. And I know it’s more than the mere fact that I have a sweet tooth. There are a whole lot of factors contributing to my eating behavior, and rather than just trying to solve my problems with a diet, I’m going on a journey of self-discovery. Working with a therapist (and I’ll probably recruit my acupuncturist, as well), I’m getting to the bottom of my bottomless stomach.
To get myself to a naturally healthy weight, I have to do more than count calories. In fact, I’m not even going to count calories at all. Instead, I’m focusing on the motivation behind my behavior. Am I truly hungry? Am I using food to comfort? Am I punishing myself? Am I rewarding myself? I’m asking myself these questions and more. And I’m also learning to nurture myself in healthy ways, but not by depriving myself. Oh no. That leads to no good. If I want a cupcake, I’m going to have a cupcake. But then I’m also going to figure out why I wanted that cupcake. I mean, in and of itself, a cupcake isn’t so bad. Five cupcakes in one sitting? Yeah, that’s not so healthy. But still, beating myself up for going on a sugar binge also doesn’t serve me.
This is a new way of thinking and behaving, and I’m not expecting to change overnight. It’s going to require some patience on my part, but also a real commitment to dig deep. To see beyond the calories and really figure out what food means to me. It’s hard work. Probably harder than any diet I’ve ever been on. But if I really want to be my best, I’ve got to understand what being my best truly is all about.
Wish me luck!
Lucie
April 1, 2013
Slow, Slower, Slow
Back in February, I posted about my to get serious about getting fit. Since then, it has been a case of “one step forward, two steps back.� I had started out strong. Working out 4-5 times a week, tracking my food, and even managing a few minutes of meditation here and there. But then my family suffered yet another tragic loss right after Valentine’s Day with the unexpected passing of my uncle. The entire family was in an utter state of shock. Family and friends from near and far descended upon the small Indiana town where I grew up to pay their respects. In all, over 400 people attended his funeral. Quite an incredibly heartwarming experience. But it was tough, not just because my uncle was such a benevolent and loving man, but because he was only 62. He had so much more love to give, so many more lives to touch.
My aunt’s home was filled with family, tears, laughter and food. Lots of food, most of which I couldn’t eat because I’m a vegetarian and Hoosiers haven’t yet figured out how to cook vegetables without meat. So, my only choices were breads and sweets. I’m not complaining. It was a free pass to drown my sorrows in brownies, cookies, mac & cheese, and cake. Such delicious cake! But seventy-two hours of traveling, eating, crying, family-bonding, more crying, more eating, more traveling and my body was beaten, bloated, and begging for some good nutrition.
However, I had to return to work the very next day where I was overloaded with reports to produce, an audit to prep for, and a board meeting to prepare. For nearly a month straight, I worked long hours, barely leaving my desk to get a drink or to eat. Once home, I was starving and didn’t have the patience to cook a healthy meal, so I just tossed a frozen dinner in the oven and snacked on popcorn, cookies, Easter candy, and whatever else would satisfy my ever-increasing hunger.
The other thing that screwed me up was the time change. You wouldn’t think that losing an hour would so adversely affect my energy, but there is statistical evidence that more people suffer heart attacks when we “spring forward� than any other time during the year, so clearly I’m not the only one who doesn’t react well to it. So, that missing hour put me in a stupor for two weeks. Yes, two full weeks during which I got no exercise because I couldn’t get up before the sunrise and had no energy to work out after work.
The thing is, I know these are excuses. There are plenty of people who persevere in their weight loss efforts under similar conditions. But you know what? It was one month. One month that I got off track. And the important thing is that I’m back on track. I think the lesson here is to give yourself a little slack from time to time, but to know when it’s time to get back to work. When it’s time to face the alarm clock blaring at 6am to get in your morning work out. When it’s time to walk away from the cookies and cakes and once again embrace nutritious foods. When it’s time to acknowledge that the only sure way to fail is to give up, and then don’t give up. Get up. Get going. It might be slow going, but it’s going. Slow, slower, slow. And that’s okay.
Ciao,
Lucie
March 25, 2013
Slow, Slower, Slow
My aunt’s home was filled with family, tears, laughter and food. Lots of food, most of which I couldn’t eat because I’m a vegetarian and Hoosiers haven’t yet figured out how to cook vegetables without meat. So, my only choices were breads and sweets. I’m not complaining. It was a free pass to drown my sorrows in brownies, cookies, mac & cheese, and cake. Such delicious cake! But seventy-two hours of traveling, eating, crying, family-bonding, more crying, more eating, more traveling and my body was beaten, bloated, and begging for some good nutrition.
However, I had to return to work the very next day where I was overloaded with reports to produce, an audit to prep for, and a board meeting to prepare. For nearly a month straight, I worked long hours, barely leaving my desk to get a drink or to eat. Once home, I was starving and didn’t have the patience to cook a healthy meal, so I just tossed a frozen dinner in the oven and snacked on popcorn, cookies, Easter candy, and whatever else would satisfy my ever-increasing hunger.
The other thing that screwed me up was the time change. You wouldn’t think that losing an hour would so adversely affect my energy, but there is statistical evidence that more people suffer heart attacks when we “spring forward� than any other time during the year, so clearly I’m not the only one who doesn’t react well to it. So, that missing hour put me in a stupor for two weeks. Yes, two full weeks during which I got no exercise because I couldn’t get up before the sunrise and had no energy to work out after work.
The thing is, I know these are excuses. There are plenty of people who persevere in their weight loss efforts under similar conditions. But you know what? It was one month. One month that I got off track. And the important thing is that I’m back on track. I think the lesson here is to give yourself a little slack from time to time, but to know when it’s time to get back to work. When it’s time to face the alarm clock blaring at 6am to get in your morning work out. When it's time to walk away from the cookies and cakes and once again embrace nutritious foods. When it's time to acknowledge that the only sure way to fail is to give up, and then don’t give up. Get up. Get going. It might be slow going, but it’s going. Slow, slower, slow. And that’s okay.
Ciao,
Lucie
March 15, 2013
Prego
Love is a heartache waiting to happen. At least, that’s always been Juliet Moore’s philosophy. Which is precisely why she’s spent the last twenty years keeping love at bay while snogging cute boys all across the globe. But when Juliet becomes pregnant at the ripe old age of thirty-nine, her whirlwind and fancy free love ‘em and leave ‘em lifestyle gets hijacked by morning sickness, maternity bras and, oh yeah, one enormous belly. Faced with single parenthood, dating while dashing to the bathroom at the most inopportune moments, and a stunned baby daddy, Juliet must learn to let go of her fears in order to open her heart and truly embrace a love like no other. A mother’s.
Roses in Bloom
Willa Watson began life as Willa Rose, but discarded her sir name as easily as her socks when she married financier, Ted Watson, twelve years ago. A Harvard education had brought them together, and ambition catapulted them into a life of luxury. But long nights spent in empty offices overlooking the Los Angeles skyline only served to build their wealth, not their relationship. Now, on the brink of divorce, Willa is teetering. And when she is passed up for a partnership at her law firm (again) she discovers her greatest fear has come to pass. Failure. Even her dog, Sam, a pampered Terrier with a willful spirit, seems to be disappointed in her.
Rachel Rose, ten years younger than her only sibling, Willa, has always been the baby of the family. Impetuous and carefree, she followed her dreams to New York City where she has spent the past decade waiting tables while attending acting classes, auditioning for Off Broadway plays and repeatedly falling for the wrong guy. But Rachel is forced to grow up pretty quickly when a pregnancy test reveals she’s no longer eating for one. Lost in a sea of debt, bad choices, and a crushing disappointment in herself, she looks to the one person who has always been her saving grace. Her big sister.
Rachel invades Willa’s Beverly Hills home to find that the woman she at once admired and despised for her maturity has devolved into a bathrobe-wearing, talk show-watching, ice cream-eating self-loathing machine. Rachel, on the other hand, surprises everyone, including herself, when she manages to find her footing in a world full of uncertainty and happiness in a life she never imagined living. Together, the Rose sisters will discover that sometimes your worst fears can lead to your greatest joys.
The Waterdance Excerpt
Bathed in the glow of a Malibu sunset, most anyone can relax. Anyone but me, that is. It seems I carry the stress and strain of the entire finance industry between my shoulders. But this particular Friday evening, I am determined to leave all the ups and downs of the stock market at work—for once. I simply can’t take spending another night holed up in my office writing tedious market reports for investors who don’t know the difference between the Dow Jones and the Nasdaq. I figured two martinis and a gab-fest with my best friend at Duke’s bar in Malibu would be exactly what I need to ease the tension in my neck. Still, there it is, that tightness that never wants to go away. Perhaps it will be a three-martini night.
“What you need is a good lay,� Margot says, her black curls cascading around her ebony shoulders as she nods emphatically. “That’d loosen you up.�
I snort. Margot’s answer to everything is sex. Got dumped by your boyfriend? A night in a new man’s bed will fix what ails you. Got reamed at work? A wild romp will lift your spirits. Got in a fender-bender? A roll with a hot mechanic will have you and your car on the mend in no time.
“Don’t scoff at me, Nikki. A good, solid man between your legs will take your mind off anything. Even that stuffed-shirt, corporate gig of yours.�
“I guess I can’t argue with that logic,� I say, lifting my martini glass.
“Damn right you can’t,� she says. “That job has got you wound so tight your pee probably comes out in a spiral. A good pounding with the right man would straighten that out pronto.�
I laugh, familiar with her unabashed ideas on the curative effects of sex. But in the two years I’ve known Margot, she has yet to fully convince me of the healing powers of a meaningless fling.
“A one-night-stand?� I wrinkle up my nose. “I don’t think so.�
“Oh, quit with your goodie-goodie routine. You may look like some naïve, small-town innocent with your fresh-from-the-farm freckles and blond curls, but I know there’s a tiger lurking inside you, waiting for just the right moment to pounce. And you know a good pounce is just what you need.�
“I’m not a goodie-goodie,� I whine. “I just don’t want to have sex with a perfect stranger. I want to be with a guy who is crazy about me. Is that asking so much?� I say, sensing that familiar rise in the pit of my stomach that I always get when Margot challenges me, makes me feel like a prude, just because I want a little romance with my sex.
Margot is the kind of woman that causes traffic collisions when she crosses the street. She is sex on heels. And sometimes that makes me prickly. Especially when I know she’s right. My job is sucking the life out of me, if you could call what I have alife. Spending seventy hours a week hunched over a desk analyzing mind-numbingly boring financial statements doesn’t leave time for much else. Especially sex, let alone romance.
“There’s what you need,� she says, pointing her wine glass in the direction of a tall, muscular black man standing at the bar. “That’s the kind of man that could make you forget the stock market even existed.�
“Tell it, sister,� I giggle, a gin-induced buzz wiping the sting of her goodie-goodie remark from my mind.
“I’m serious. When was the last time you got laid?�
“Oh, please. Not since Robert. And even then it wasn’t much of a lay.�
“That’s because you only date those boring, white-boy, accountant types. You need arealman.�
I give a half-hearted laugh. Margot never approves of the men I date. They’re always too straight, too nerdy, too boring. And she’s usually right. But they’re safe. Or so I thought, until I discovered that good, old, reliable Robert had been seeing some tarted-up, wannabe actress behind my back. He even blamed his affair on me, saying it never would have happened if I hadn’t been so pre-occupied with work. That I never gave him the kind of attention he needed.Pfft!
I gulp down the last of my martini, and rub the nagging ache in my neck. “What I need is a massage.�
“Ooh, girl, I have the perfect guy for you.�
I raise my eyebrow at her. The perfect guy for Margot usually has an underwear drawer packed full of rip-away g-strings. Not exactly the kind of man I want.
“No, seriously.� She begins rooting around in her purse. “My aesthetician gave me the name of a Watsu therapist. He’s supposed to be amazing.�
“A what-zoo therapist?�
“Watsu. It’s like a water massage or something.�
“A water massage? What, like he uses one of those massaging shower heads on you?�
“No, he massages you in a pool or hot tub, or something like that. Here it is,� she exclaims, triumphantly pulling the crisp, white business card from her purse and handing it to me.
I hold the card in my hand. It’s made of a good paper stock, weighty and thick. Written in elegant, black lettering are the words, “Ricardo, Massage Therapist Specializing in Watsu and Waterdance,� followed by a phone number.
“I don’t know. It sounds kind of weird,� I say, turning the card over in my hand for any further hint of what exactly Watsu is.
“Monica raved about him,� Margot says with that look that tells me she thinks I’m being a stick-in-the-mud. “But if you’re too afraid to try something new…�
She leans over and snatches the card out of my hand.
“I’m not afraid,� I say, defiantly seizing the card before she can stow it in her purse.
No, I’m not afraid. I’m desperate. Desperate to get rid of the stubborn pain in my muscles, and desperate to convince Margot that I’m not a goodie-goodie. I might not be harboring the heart of a tiger, but I’m certainly not some naïve schoolgirl either. There’s more to Nikki Thompson than stock portfolios and bland boyfriends. And Margot is going to know it, even if it means I have to get a little wet to prove it to her.
The Waterdance
Available on.
Nikki Thompson’s got a top job in finance, a fabulous best friend, a posh loft in downtown Los Angeles, and a hot Italian sports car. What she doesn’t have is a life. Spending all her time hunched over her desk analyzing the stock market hasn’t done her butt or her heart one bit of good. And when an intimate Watsu session has Nikki falling fast for Ricardo, the sexy massage therapist charged with unkinking her knots, she impulsively jets off to an exclusive spa in Costa Rica to chase after him. But there’s more to Ricardo than Nikki knows, and going after his heart just might end up breaking hers.
Hollywood Ending Excerpt
“Nothing too hard. Just hand jobs,� said Roka, an older Iranian student whose designer wardrobe was as rich as her accent. “Is good for to keep me busy. I practice English.�
“Uh, actually, you don’t want to call what you’re doing ahand job,� Trina quickly replied.
“No? But is job with hands. I put shoes out and purses, and I only use hands,� The fifty-something siren waved her bejeweled hands in the air. “No brain work.�
“Yes, but we don’t want to sayhand job. That, uh, has another meaning.”�
Gazing around the sterile, white room at her mixed assortment of students, Trina Stewart contemplated explaining the meaning of masturbation to them. An uncomfortable situation to be in, certainly, but one would be surprised at how often she had to face this kind of decision at work.
Teaching English as a Second Language was not exactly what she’d envisioned doing when she first arrived in Los Angeles nearly a decade ago. Nor when she’d enrolled in one of the nation’s best film schools. But ten years in Tinsel Town, and she was no closer to her dream job now than the moment she’d first laid eyes on the famed Hollywood sign.
Thatfreakingsign. God, how it irritated her. It just sat there, day in and day out, clinging to the mountainside, taunting her, mocking her and her Hollywood dreams. She was starting to hate that damned sign and the way it glared at her whenever she looked at it. Reminding her of just how terribly unsuccessful she still was. Lately she’d been entertaining some not so savory plans for that sign. Plans that included a blowtorch, spray paint, and a wrecking ball. If she could just get rid of that friggin� thing once and for all, maybe she would even find a job. A proper Hollywood job. And considering she’d just graduated from a prestigious film school with a Master of Fine Arts, no less, one would think it not such an insurmountable task.
“What kind of job is hand job?� Roka asked, and Trina’s mind slammed back to the task at hand.
“Okay. Well, it’s not actually a job. It’s a sort of sexual activity.�
“Ooh. What kind of activity?� Roka’s eyes lit up, and she pulled out her notebook.
“A hand job is slang for, uh, well, when you use your hand to, you know.�
Roka leaned forward in her chair, and, Trina noticed, so did her other students. Eagerly anticipating the explanation, they sat perched on the edge of their seats, eyes fixed on Trina. Roka was not a timid woman, so Trina wasn’t worried about offending her. But the rest of the class was made up mainly of young Asian girls whose traditional parents may not have appreciated the kind of education Trina was providing them.
“Yes? What do I do with my hand?� Roka pried.
“You grab, er, stroke –�
“What is stroke?�
“All right. I’m just going to show you.� She made what she believed was the international symbol for jerking off.
Roka screwed up her brows. “Gamble? You throw dice?”�
Apparently, it wasn’t as widely known as Trina had thought.
“No. Masturbation!”�
Trina jumped up from her chair and wrote it on the whiteboard in huge black letters. Roka dived into her electronic dictionary, frantically clicking in the letters just as Kyoko, Trina’s sixty-year-old Japanese boss walked in with a teenage Japanese girl hooked to her arm.
“We have new student, Trina. What are you teaching today?”� Kyoko glanced at the board. “Mas-tur-ba-tion. What is that?� Kyoko may have run an ESL school, but she was hardly fluent herself.
“Oh, hand job!� laughed Roka heartily, the remainder of the class tapping away at their keys.
Instantly, Trina turned her attention toward the new student, “masturbation� still hanging on the whiteboard behind her and a fine blush coloring her cheeks. “Who’s this?�
“This is Naoko. Her parents are getting divorced and she is here until they can decide where she will live, but she has upset stomach.� Kyoko raised her hand to her mouth and whispered, “Diarrhea.”�
Trina smiled at the poor girl. Kyoko had a penchant for giving out too much information.
“I told her to drink some green tea, but she is afraid it will make her go diarrhea again,� Kyoko confided.
She also gave advice, usually involving the healing powers of green tea or some sort of ancient Japanese concoction.
“I leave her with you. You teach her about mas-tur-ba-tion. Okay?�
Kyoko departed swiftly, leaving Naoko standing in the middle of the room. Trina pulled out a plastic chair and invited her to join the rest of the students at the table. Her downcast eyes revealed a world of information to Trina. She was like all the other Japanese girls who came to her class. Timid, scared, lonely, and desperate. And dumped in a city halfway around the world from all her friends and family.
Trina knew exactly how she felt.
